


Group Run

by nogoaway



Series: Hockey AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, Innuendo, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolina and York invite York's teammate to their weekend jog. It is absolutely, 100%, Not A Date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Group Run

“Oh, wow,” Carolina says, and leans over the rail of the bridge. Strands of hair are already coming loose from her ponytail, tugged free by the wind blasting over the Charles. Like everything in a Boston summer, it kind of smells like bad eggs and urine, but there’s a hint of salt in there, somewhere. York tries to look on the upside. That’s kind of his thing.

Speaking of upsides– Carolina in workout gear. Not that Carolina doesn’t already spend most of her life in workout gear, but today’s like, Reebok semi-formal. She has on the glittery pink racer-back bra (York’s personal favorite, it looks like Lisa Frank came down from office supply heaven and blessed her knockers) and a pair of turquoise compression shorts. They don’t say ‘Juicy’ on the back, but, you know. Upsides.

“Jesus, look at his legs. Good call.”

“Wait, what?” York braces his hands on the guardrail, following her gaze down to the riverside bike path. Sure enough, North is down there, but a few dozen yards off, stretching his hamstrings on a stone bench. York can just make him out if he squints, and only because North is so pale he practically shines and he’s wearing those fucking stupid purple cut-off shorts, oh no.

York told him not to. Anything but the shorts, he’d said. Please. And North had smiled and offered him fries, and oh. That wasn’t an agreement, was it? That was just fries.

“That bastard,” he breathes. “Also, no way you can see how nice his legs are from here, don’t lie.”

“I have 20/10 vision,” Carolina says, lightly, like she states all facts pertaining to her physical abilities. “You should have eaten more carrots as a child. Besides, how can you _not_? They’re like glow sticks.”

“He is freakishly pale,” York informs her, a bit sourly. “That’s not a bonus, it’s an evolutionary weakness. He’d be absolutely useless in an equatorial climate. Heat stroke, every day. Lobster red.”

“I bet he wears sunscreen,” Carolina chirps, and her mouth quirks up. “I bet he rubbed SPF 90 alllll over those long, long legs of his this morning.”

“Okay,” York says, trying, and failing, not to visualize that in glorious technicolor “but stop ogling his legs, okay? They’re really not that great.”

“They’re majestic,” Carolina corrects him, and props her chin up on her fist “look at them, like a pair of Washington monuments. Only chiseled.”

York makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “No, okay? No. Just wait. Just wait until he gets closer. He has no ass. It’s terminal pancake ass.”

Carolina laughs. “You’re the one who’s spent the entire off-season telling me how hot he is.”

“Not his legs, okay?” York rubs his palms on his own shorts, which are guy length and loose and not fucking 'July Plum’ colored. “I am the leg guy. That’s like, my thing. Squats. You fell in love with me _inside_ of a squat cage.”

“Your thighs are very nice,” Carolina concedes. “But you’re kind of short. And…” she screws her lips up, like she’s searching for the right word. “Hairy.”

“I will wax,” York promises, and immediately flinches at the prospect. “Okay, maybe. Shave. I _might_ shave.”

Carolina lets out an exaggerated dreamy sigh. “I can just picture those wrapped right around–”

“OKAY!” York shouts, and it echoes out over the water. “Time for our run. No more dawdling.” He jogs in place, and then moves backwards a little bit, until he’s coaxed her away from the rail and onto the switchback that will take them down to the bike path. “Also, please no leg wrapping talk, I don’t want to scare him.”

“Scare him?” Carolina asks, edging a few inches in front of him, just far enough that her ponytail whips over his face “this is a date, isn’t it?”

“This is not a date,” York insists. “This is a pre-date to determine if a date will happen. This is a proto-date. A rehearsal date.”

They cross off the paved switchback onto the path, and North looks up at them with a smile. York notices that he’s given Carolina a once-over. Annnd then a twice-over. Well. He always knew North had taste.

“Hey bro,” York calls, slowing to a walk as North strides up to meet him. York does not look at his stupid pale legs. North’s shoulders and chest are where it’s at anyway, Carolina’s just confused.

“Hey York,” North says, and turns to nod at Carolina. “And hey to you, too.”

“We’ve met,” Carolina reminds him, with that hungry grin York has since categorized as 'the one half-way between jaguar and shark’. “I come to most of his games.”

“I remember you,” North replies, and York knows that’s just what you say, but he thinks North really does, and sure enough– “you cheered me on at the MIT match when I was stuck in the box.”

“You were wearing more clothes then,” Carolina sticks her hand out, and North shakes it for a second too long.

“So were you,” he says, and York huffs in annoyance.

Carolina tilts her head at him, the 'don’t worry, I’m still paying you the most attention of them all’ look. It’s a look she has to pull out rather often, if York’s being honest. But she’s _his_ girlfriend, and no one else’s. Yet.

“Speaking of inappropriate public nudity,” York says, and starts off at a slow jog; as expected, they’re off right after him. It’s a nice day, and with all this sex talk York’s practically vibrating. No doubt Carolina has some adrenaline to work off, too. “Why do you always wear those fucking shorts? It’s obscene.”

North lengthens his stride just far enough to catch up to York on his left; Carolina’s already a few paces ahead, of course, but she’s got one ear turned towards them. “What can I say,” he grins at York, and it’s not a shark grin or a jaguar grin, but it’s an asshole grin, the corny dad joke grin, and York’s mind is going a mile a minute, _no no no don’t say it_.

“Don’t say it man,” he hisses, but North’s eyes are lighting up like they always do right before he drops a terrible pun “don’t say it. Please–”

“If the sky is out, my thighs are out,” North quips, cheerily, and Carolina stumbles in front of them, cackling. York nearly crashes into her; or rather he does crash into her, and Carolina very handily rolls him off of her back and grabs him around the waist before he face-plants onto the tarmac.

“No,” York whispers. It’s begun. Why did he ever think introducing the most reprobate punster in New England amateur hockey to his girlfriend was a good idea. His girlfriend, who regularly came up with, and used, the worst pick-up lines York had _ever heard_.

“I _love_ him,” Carolina declares. “We’re taking him home.”

“Do I get any say in this?” North wonders, but he’s smiling, and blushing a little around the ears. York does not find it cute. Not in the slightest.

“Absolutely not,” Carolina tells him. She straightens up. Taps a finger on her chin. “Well. Actually, you have to pass the endurance test first.”

North blushes full on at that, red all the way down to his chest. Between that and the forest green shirt he looks like a slightly confused stoplight. A slightly confused stoplight on shiny white popsicle stick legs. Anyway.

“She means mileage,” York reassures him. “You know. Feet?”

“Oh,” North breathes, and turns to quirk the asshole grin at Carolina. York can only watch, helpless. “Feet. And shoes too?”

“I will happily step on you,” Carolina informs him, and North lights up at that.

“Oh no,” York moans. “She has _so many shoes_.”

“I’m fond of spike heels,” North admits, and it’s York’s turn to go red.

“What a coincidence,” Carolina says. “So is York. We have quite a collection.”

“Nikes,” York insists. “Adidas. Whatever off brand you’re wearing bro, okay? Can we run, now.”

“Oh, you can run, York,” North says, grin still splitting his face.

“But you can’t hide,” Carolina finishes, and loops an arm around North’s waist just as York comes to his senses and sprints off down the path.

He can hear them laughing behind him. He smiles.

Tonight is gonna be _great_.


End file.
